Rachel G.

Photography by Rhianna Womack

If you’re reading this, thank the people who’ve been there for you through it all.

The summer of 2021 was a low point for me. I returned to work at the summer camp in Maine I grew up attending. Except, instead of experiencing the fun as a camper, I was responsible for making the fun for children who had just spent the last year on Zoom classes and TikTok—not a day without their phones. Exhausted and isolated by my small camp bubble, I stopped communicating with most people. My friends from school reached out. I rarely replied. I felt alone and, as a result, pushed them further and further away. I convinced myself they didn’t actually like me. Despite my doubts, when I returned to school, my friends confronted me about how worried they were that I had vanished at so many points that summer.

After returning to school and living in a room with four of my friends, I tried to hide my intrusive thoughts and anxiety attacks as I had done when we lived separately the year before. Regardless of my attempts to conceal my struggle, they saw 100% of me. They noticed the lack of enthusiasm I showed when anything exciting occurred and how I took my dinner upstairs to avoid sitting and conversing with other girls in our sorority house. They heard the sad songs I played on walks and noticed how I removed myself from conversations, even in a small group setting.

In the midst of all this, and me giving them about 60% of myself on my good days, my friends still engaged with me. They helped me laugh, sat next to me while I watched TV, and shared book recommendations or drama happening in their home lives.

Knowing the person I was capable of being and the joy I exhibited the previous year, they stood their ground and supported me every time I tried to push them away. They helped me acknowledge that I was not in a healthy headspace, and together we listed out the pros and cons of taking medication for depression. We discussed the stigma of medication and concluded that what others think doesn’t matter if medication could help me return to being content with myself. I reached out to my parents, my therapist, and my psychiatrist with my friends’ constant support to get the help they knew I needed.

Five months later, I’m so thankful for all they did for me. My therapist once told me that if people wanted you in their lives, they’d make room for you. I’m so glad my friends consistently made room for me in their lives and looked out for me even when I did not reciprocate their efforts in our relationships.

I still have bad days, of course, but with the help of my friends, I’ve been able to feel content with myself. So, if you’re reading this, thank the people who go through it all with you. I may not thank them enough, but using this as a thank you seems appropriate.

Rachel G., University of Michigan

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